


Caught

by SouthronWildling



Series: On the King's Road [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 15:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18995497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthronWildling/pseuds/SouthronWildling
Summary: Jaime left King's Landing and headed north alone. Post S7, pre S8





	Caught

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some smut, to get me used to the idea of writing it and posting it for others to read. And then this happened. This isn't even my ship, and I don't even know what to think of myself right now.

Four days on the road. Dusk was gathering, and the woods were almost silent as he made camp. Not really a camp, even, but when he tried to think of a snide remark or clever pun, nothing came to him and he scoffed at himself in disgust. A small fire and bedroll laid out. A horse tied to a tree where there was scant grass to eat. He hadn't bothered unpacking the tarp he could rig into a makeshift shelter. The skies were clear, at least.

  
Two more days, maybe three, and he should reach the inn at the Crossroads. It would be good to get a bath and a decent bed for the night. Something to eat that wasn't dried meat and bread that was going harder and harder in his saddlebag. He ate a wizened apple and threw the core into the flames. 

Wrapped in his cloak and a blanket, he lay on the bedroll and stared at the flames of his small fire, then reached out and shifted a piece of wood so it would burn more efficiently. Sparks rose in the air and drifted upwards into the branches of the trees that surrounded him. He thought momentarily of one of those sparks catching on a dead leaf, the flames being fanned by the light wind that ruffled his hair intermittently. The entire forest being caught up as the fire leapt from branch to frozen branch. He shivered. 'At least I'd die warm,' he thought.

He rolled onto his back and untied his breeches, then licked his palm and began to stroke. Cersei's face came immediately to mind, a habit too deeply ingrained even after her betrayals. He shoved the image aside and brought back Arthur Dayne. The quick grace as he fought, both arms dancing swords as sunlight glinted off the blades. Those arms wrapped around his stomach, pressing his back against the knight's chest. A mouth pressed into the space where his shoulder met his neck, sucking. His right arm drifted downwards and he missed his other hand. He pressed his shortened arm against his stones as best he could.

  
The pressure mounted, and Arthur morphed into Brienne, standing in the baths at Harrenhal, statuesque and unexpectedly beautiful. Small breasts and a curve from waist to hips that was completely hidden when she was dressed and armored. Dark blonde hair, but a completely different shade than he was used to seeing, barely visible just above the water and he had never seen, never been able to explore it downwards-

"Jaime fookin Lannister."

Ah, Bronn. Gods, Bronn. That cocky swagger when he walked. The smirk he gave when he said something he knew was witty, and the twist of those lips. He'd like to do a great many things to those lips. The feel of his arms around him in the water, seconds (before? after?) he could be killed by dragonfire. Bronn singing in Dorne, killing a snake that would have killed him. Bronn making him fight, making him learn to fight left handed, it was a good place to fight because it was where Bronn fucked some minor lord's wife and why wouldn't he--

He spilled, _Bronn_ on his lips, and the rushing out felt like he was getting something out of his system, but as he continued to stroke and the last shudders coursed through him, he knew he hadn't. He'd done this too many times with Bronn fixed in his mind already. It wasn't out of his system at all. 

"Took ya long enough."

Jaime stilled and looked over, across the fire. Bronn was standing some eight feet away, one hand loosely holding the reins of a horse, and the other clasping the sword that hung at his hip. Not cross-wise, as if he intended to draw. He held the sword hilt in his left hand, loosely, his arm canted outward, like he wanted something to do with his hand or wanted the feel of something in his hand that had the right shape. 

'Did I say that out loud?' he thought as he sat up. He didn't bother trying to do up his laces. Bronn obviously knew what he'd been up to, but how much he knew... He grabbed a rag from the saddlebag on the ground beside him and wiped up..

"I didn't realize you were there," he said.

"Well, that much is obvious," the sellsword returned. He tied his horse near Jaime's and then unsaddled, removed the saddlebags, and laid out his own bedroll across the fire. When he finally sat down, Jaime held up a hard stick of jerky. "Eat?"

Bronn took it from him and chewed into the tough, leathery meat. "So we're headed north."

Jaime nodded, still wondering if Bronn had heard him, what he'd said when...

"Right then. There's castles in the north."

When they lay down to sleep on opposite sides of the fire, Jaime listened to him settling in. He was getting drowsy when the words floated across the dying fire.  


"Thought you were going to need some help there, before you finally finished up."


End file.
